Photo by Anna Hwzzz.

The Silversmith’s Hands

I have seen these hands
work fire
in order to bend
metal.
Those hands can run as light
as a whisper
along my thigh.
They trace paths
electric
across my skin and leave me
undone,
an ocean 
of pounding surf and desire.

These are hands
that work
the elements.
The mountain ridges of those palms,
the knowing boldness of that touch –
they move and soften
diverse landscapes,
metal
or woman,
tankard
or wife,
vessels both.